


Cliched Beginnings.

by Kali Cephirot (10AlliraDream84)



Category: Road to El Dorado (2000), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Flynn Rider's Hot Gay Dads., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/10AlliraDream84/pseuds/Kali%20Cephirot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn Rider's Hot Gay Dads. Or, the story of how Miguel and Tulio end up adopting a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cliched Beginnings.

**Cliched Begginings.**

It starts like this: they find him in a basket.

Okay, no, it _doesn't_ quite start like this: there is the once upon a time there were two best friends who traveled through the world searching for riches, became gods, gave up on godhood, failed to get the riches they wanted (which was, basically ALL the riches in the world which, yes, Tulio could admit, was, perhaps, a bit too greedy, even for himself) a very attractive female friend and associate who had, somehow, actually gotten about half the riches of _all_ the riches and then the two original friends settled with just enough money – not quite so legally acquired, perhaps – to have a comfortable, easy, mostly legal life.

And _then_ they find the baby in a basket, because it wouldn't be cliché enough otherwise. It's a cold, freezing night, the threat of snow hanging unto the naked tree branches, the wind howling dramatically with every tiny sound inside their house amplified.

When the knocking came, Miguel screamed like a banshee (oh, alright. He screamed as well) and they waited for bloody _Cortes_ to come inside after all those years. But nothing happened. Just the very frantic, creepy, loud knocking and then just the logs creaking over the chimney and the wind howling.

“That's weird,” Miguel said, frowning, letting go of him. “Do you think there's someone out there? With this weather?”

“Oh, no, absolutely not,” Tulio deadpanned, going towards the window. “Doors just knock on themselves to spook people. It's a fact.”

Miguel barely snorted at his phrase, more busy walking towards the door. Tulio stayed behind, both curious and, well. Spooked.

“If you get slaughtered by a madman, I want you to know that I won't avenge your death since I'll be too busy running away,” he told Miguel.

“Awww, Tulio, I knew you cared,” Miguel threw over his shoulder with a grin before turning towards the door again. Tulio saw him swallow and, just in case, Tulio lifted a very heavy, very expensive vase Chel had sent them from her last trip.

Miguel opened the door and then braced himself, and Tulio got ready to throw the vase.

Nothing happened. In fact, from where Tulio could see, there was _no one_ there.

“Well, apparently doors _do_ knock on themselves,” Tulio muttered, putting the vase back on it's place.

Miguel snorted again, and he was closing the door when he stopped, looking down. There was a basket there. _All_ the alarm bells in Tulio's brain started ringing at once, although for a completely different situation.

“Miguel. _Miguel_. Leave that thing there and--”

Of course, Miguel ignored him. He had knelt already by the basket, lifting the blanket.

“Oh... Tulio, come and see!”

 _Please, let it be a puppy_ , Tulio begged to whichever god was listening – hoping it was one he and Miguel hadn't mortally offended forever. But of course it wasn't a puppy. It was a baby boy, about six, perhaps seven months old, with a mop of brown hair and blue-green eyes. The baby had been sleeping before Miguel picked him up, but now he was yawning, moving a tiny little fist to his mouth to gum-chew on his pink tiny fingers.

The noise Miguel made wasn't human, his eyes huge and sparkling.

“It's a baby!” Miguel squealed. “Poor thing, he was abandoned...” He stood up, the baby cradled on the nook of his arm as he picked the blanket, looking into the basket. “There's no letter, Tulio.”

Because of course having a return address would have been too kind. Tulio took a deep breath, trying to find the best way to stop Miguel from--

“CAN WE KEEP HIM?”

Saying that. Obviously the shock was making him too slow for Miguel's overeagerness.

“Miguel. This is a human baby, not a puppy. We can't just--”

“EUGENE. Eugene is a nice, strong name! We can call him Gene for GENIUS.”

“That doesn't even--” Tulio shook his head, trying to focus: the problem with Miguel was that he was just _unable_ to follow one straight line of thought, he sort of jumped and barged into three or four at the same time, and then you just had to hope you could catch him. “Miguel. Human. Baby. With very specific needs that we have not the _faintest_ idea how to handle and--”

“Oh, don't worry, Eugene, daddy Tulio is just grumpy,” Miguel cooed, moving the baby until he was lying over his shoulder, rubbing at his back. “Who is a grumpy daddy? Daddy Tulio is! Yes, yes he is. You are lucky that papa Miguel is here to show you how to have fun! Who is a lucky baby? You are! Yes, you are! Yes, you are!”

Tulio pressed the bridge of his nose: he no longer counted 'til ten. He was, he calculated, near the four houndred _billions_ with Miguel's brand of craziness.

“Miguel, I am not grumpy, I am just-- did you just call me _daddy_?”

And _that'_ s how it started.


End file.
